One of the reasons Agusejia moved into the King’s residence was because of Xiao Rong, but Xiao Rong was like a mudfish — as long as he was awake, Agusejia had no hope of getting near him. He always had perfectly reasonable excuses, which frustrated Agusejia even more.

Xiao Rong didn’t know that, unable to see him, Agusejia had started contemplating making a move on his terrifying yet gentle grandmother. As he watched Song Shuo’s relaxed demeanor, he thought of Agusejia again.

Suddenly, his previous impatience vanished, and he gave Song Shuo a soft smile. “Song Minggong.”

Song Shuo: “…”

He shivered and immediately became alert. “Only my grandmother can call me that. You’re not allowed to.”

Xiao Rong wore a smug look. In the future, you’ll let the entire world call you that. Even the seal used for issuing decrees will have ‘Song Qianzheng Seal’ engraved on it.

So generous in the future — why so stingy now? Xiao Rong ignored him and deliberately called out again, “Song Minggong~”

Song Shuo: “…”

Realizing Xiao Rong wouldn’t let him off, Song Shuo’s face went blank as he said, “Just say what you want.”

Xiao Rong smiled again: “You said your grandmother gave you this nickname because she worried about your health. A congenital weakness is a persistent problem throughout history. As you age, the sickness settles deeper in your body. Worse yet, it could settle in your brain. One day— boom!”

As he spoke, Xiao Rong spread his fingers and mimed an explosion with his hand, as if picturing something delightful. After savoring the image for a moment, he looked at Song Shuo with concern. “Breaking out from the body, dying from an internal explosion — that’s the last thing I want to see.”

Song Shuo: “…”

He stared at Xiao Rong expressionlessly. “Say that again after you stop smirking.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Touching the corners of his mouth that had unconsciously lifted, Xiao Rong cleared his throat and, without changing his tone, continued pitching, “I’m serious. You’re someone I worked so hard to bring out of Jinling. If you can’t serve the King for at least forty years, I’ll feel it’s a loss.”

Historically, Song Yuanzheng died at age sixty-six. Starting now, forty years of service would make him just over sixty by then. Even if fate couldn’t be changed and he had to die at sixty-six, that would still leave him with six years to enjoy life. Xiao Rong believed he was already being incredibly kind.

Song Shuo was dumbfounded as he looked at Xiao Rong. To be honest, Song Shuo had never expected in his life that he would live to be forty years old, and yet Xiao Rong said what? He wanted him to work for him for forty years?!

Song Shuo even stuttered, “You… you’re not even human!”

Xiao Rong was very confused. He had even left Song Shuo time for retirement—how could that still not count as being human?

After a pause, Xiao Rong didn’t argue with him and got to the main point. “It just so happens that Chief Agusejia is living in the palace, and recently she’s become very interested in difficult and rare illnesses. You could totally go—”

Song Shuo said, “I’m not going.”

Xiao Rong blinked, “This is a rare opportunity. I can introduce you—”

Song Shuo replied, “I don’t want it.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

Seeing Song Shuo’s firm attitude, Xiao Rong’s face also fell. “Is it wrong to care about you? Look how scared you are just because I want you to work for forty years. The precondition is also that you live another forty years! You think just anyone can receive treatment from the Chief of the Butewu tribe? Brat, you really have no conscience.”

Song Shuo’s eyes widened. “Then why don’t you go? The Chief’s only interested in rare diseases because of you! I don’t even have some complicated condition, I’m just naturally weak!”

It was the first time hearing someone talk about their illness with such righteousness.

Xiao Rong said, “I’m not like you.”

Song Shuo said, “How are you any different! That whole mysterious act of yours doesn’t fool me. You clearly just don’t want doctors treating you, so you made up some excuse to fob off Chancellor Gao and the others. Before you lecture me, why don’t you convince yourself first? I’ve never seen anyone else so reckless with their life!”

Xiao Rong: “…”

The sorrows of men truly don’t resonate with one another.

Was he being reckless? He was just too desperate to live!

Xiao Rong couldn’t explain, so he stopped talking, but Song Shuo wasn’t someone who would stop when he had the upper hand. His principle was: If you’re right, press harder.

He stood up with a swish and continued to scold, “You fainted during the day and then stayed up all night with that monk burning the midnight oil. You haven’t looked well these past few days and have you even rested? You always find something to do! Chancellor Gao and I are doing our best to take the burden off you, but you just keep piling more things on yourself! I really don’t understand it. When it comes to controlling the situation, you’re not the only one under pressure, but only you work yourself like this day and night. Sometimes I suspect you really do have some kind of immortality technique and think you can’t die no matter what, but Xiao Rong, you and I are just flesh and blood. If you keep living like this, draining your life force every day, there will come a day when not even an immortal descending from the heavens can save you!”

Xiao Rong couldn’t help but glance at Song Shuo.

Though he was still that silly kid, his sensitivity to people and human nature always surprised Xiao Rong. If he was already like this now, how transparent would everyone be to him once he matured even more?

Xiao Rong thought for a moment and was just about to say something to Song Shuo when he heard a hesitant voice outside the door.

“Um…”

Zhao Xingzong had entered and immediately overheard Song Shuo laying into Xiao Rong, but he had already walked to the doorway, and now neither staying nor leaving seemed appropriate.

Besides, he really couldn’t bear staying at the Buddha’s son’s place anymore. He had gathered all his courage to come seek out Xiao Rong—if he left now, he might not have the guts to return for a long time.

He really didn’t want to listen to any more Buddhist scriptures!

…

When Xiao Rong saw that it was Zhao Xingzong, he immediately adjusted his expression—he still remained cautious around this man.

Since Song Shuo wasn’t familiar with Zhao Xingzong, the conversation was interrupted. Song Shuo drooped his eyelids and sat back down without even glancing at Zhao Xingzong.

Zhao Xingzong didn’t mind, all his attention was on Xiao Rong. When Xiao Rong asked what he wanted, Zhao Xingzong took a deep breath and made his request.

In short, he wanted to change jobs.

Xiao Rong: “…”

The Buddha’s Son had been going out a lot lately and was mostly with other Buddhist monks. In truth, he didn’t need anyone’s help. Since Zhao Xingzong had joined under the command of the Northern King, it wasn’t appropriate to always keep him by the Buddha’s Son’s side.

Xiao Rong needed to keep Zhao close, but also couldn’t let him access any palace secrets. After a moment of consideration, Xiao Rong pointed to Song Shuo, “Then from now on, follow Mr. Song.”

Zhao Xingzong: “…”

Still someone’s assistant?

However, Song Shuo handled more important affairs than the Buddha’s Son. Overall, Xiao Rong had given him a better position. Zhao Xingzong clenched his fist silently—this time, he would work even harder and strive for independence.

Suddenly gaining an assistant, Song Shuo lounged lazily in his chair. He glanced at Xiao Rong’s expression, then casually said “Oh,” and turned to Zhao Xingzong. “Go wait in my courtyard. Don’t touch a single sheet of paper on the floor. I left them there because they’re useful.”

Zhao Xingzong: “…”

The Buddha’s Son’s place was spotless—you’d even feel guilty just walking in. Apparently, Mr. Song was the complete opposite.

Zhao Xingzong walked off silently. Once he was out of sight, Song Shuo sat up straighter, eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust him?”

Otherwise, why had Xiao Rong given him two direct superiors in a row? That wasn’t Xiao Rong’s usual style—he normally believed anyone allowed into the palace should be able to manage on their own.

Xiao Rong smiled faintly. “I know there’s something wrong with him, but I don’t know what it is. Putting him with the Buddha’s Son was originally to have him suppressed and monitored so he wouldn’t stir up trouble, but he’s a person, not an object. Over time, he’ll grow resentful of that treatment. Better to guide than to block. So now he’s yours.”

After a slight pause, Xiao Rong’s expression darkened. “Don’t alert him. Find out what’s really wrong with him. Song Shuo, nothing can go wrong in Chenliu.”

Song Shuo sat up even straighter. He knew Xiao Rong was serious. He looked toward the door, but Zhao Xingzong was long gone. With his face turned slightly toward Xiao Rong, Song Shuo nodded calmly.

Moments later, Song Shuo left too. Now that everyone was gone, Xiao Rong cheerfully whistled, pulled out the letter he hadn’t finished reading, and thought to himself, ‘someone even he couldn’t figure out would at least keep Song Shuo busy for half a month.’ For the next fifteen days, he’d finally have some peace and quiet!

…

＊

Xiao Rong had found peace and quiet, but Zhao Xingzong certainly hadn’t. On the very first day, he was already missing the quiet serenity of the Buddha’s Son’s place.

God! Song Shuo seemed incapable of shutting up, and his topics jumped around so quickly that Zhao Xingzong couldn’t keep up. Worse still, just when he was most confused, Song Shuo would suddenly dig a trap for him.

“Who’s better, me or the Buddha’s Son?”

“As your superior, do you prefer the Buddha’s Son or me?”

“What do you think are the Buddha’s Son’s weaknesses?”

Zhao Xingzong: “…”

By the end of the day, Zhao Xingzong drifted home like a ghost.

It was already curfew. The house he bought was near the palace, not Baibao Street, so the streets were mostly empty. As soon as he entered, the first thing he wanted to do was sleep like the dead.

Despite this, his newly hired page boy ran over and said someone had come to visit him today—once in the morning, again in the evening. Since he wasn’t home, the visitor left.

Zhao Xingzong asked in confusion, “What was his name?”

The page boy shook his head in embarrassment. “I don’t know, Master. I asked, but he said that once you saw him, you’d remember immediately. Then he left.”

The boy feared Zhao Xingzong would blame him, but Zhao Xingzong just felt baffled. Who was this person? So mysterious he didn’t even leave a name.

He was a bit annoyed. He wasn’t the idle Zhao Xingzong of the past anymore. He was the currently swamped Zhao Xingzong, too busy to even eat—who had time to play guessing games?

Before collapsing back onto his pillow, he told the page boy, “If he comes again, tell him to find me at the palace. I want to see who’s being so dramatic.”

Let this old acquaintance see, he was important now, and one step closer to restoring his clan’s glory!

…

Zhao Xingzong didn’t know that the man wouldn’t appear again.

He had evaded the Northern Army’s search only because of extreme caution. Visiting like this under the guise of an old friend could only be done once or twice. Any more and it would raise suspicion.

He was a bit disappointed not to see Zhao Xingzong—but it was fine. He turned and left the area, strolling back to his inn. Many scholars had yet to leave. These men weren’t that interested in opera scripts, most just wanted to play a bit longer or read more from the library.

He mingled among them and had daily tasks to do—nothing felt out of place.

Regardless, this couldn’t go on forever. Many had already checked out and gone home. His plan was to leave in a few days too.

He greeted the innkeeper and the scholars he’d befriended, then went upstairs. He took a bath, ordered dinner, ate slowly, and only then took out the secret letter he had received that morning, reading it word for word.

He sat by the window, which was wide open, because this was the impression he gave others—a generous, polite scholar who was pleasant to interact with.

He never tried to hide anything. Even when short on money, he told the truth, unlike others who pretended to be wealthy.

It was precisely because of this openness that no one suspected him or disrespected him. No one knew the letter he held wasn’t from family—it was a secret message written by Chen Jiancheng himself.

It detailed Zhou Liang’s plans, Chen Jiancheng’s distrust of Zhou Liang, his complaints about Li Xiuheng and others, and the usual plea for him to come back quickly. Chen Jiancheng even expressed sentimentally that he knew the man had been working hard for their cause, but without him, what was the point of accomplishing anything? So please, come home.

With a soft chuckle, he put the letter away. Just then, someone downstairs returned to the inn, looked up, and saw him. That person waved excitedly. “Han Qing! You’re here too! Come down and have a drink with us!”

The scholar upstairs shifted his gaze slightly, saw the familiar face, and smiled again. “Alright, I’ll come.”

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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